


so tell me what's wrong with the feeling

by grace



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Breathplay, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 06:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11731251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace/pseuds/grace
Summary: They’ve never had an actual conversation-conversation about it, but Jon was there when Tommy set up his (frequently deactivated and re-activated) Tinder account, opening new bottles of wine and giving Tommy advice on his profile (“fewer pictures of you on a boat, NO pictures of you in a suit”), so he saw with his own eyes Tommy set his seeking preferences to both women and men. Thinking it through, Jon doesn't know why he was even surprised. What did he think, that he was some kind of grand exception for Tommy? What a bonkers thing to think.





	so tell me what's wrong with the feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100000000000% fictional. Please be chill and respectful and do not in any way bring to the attention of the people named!!

“Are you gonna be ready to go soon?” Jon asks. “Pundit’s getting restless.”

“Pundit’s fine,” dismisses Tommy, taking the lollipop out of his mouth. 

She’s lying at Tommy’s feet. He had moved her bed closer to his chair, clearly as a power play while fighting with Lovett earlier about ad copy. 

“ _You’re_ getting restless,” says Tommy. “Slacker.”

Lovett hovers by the door, fidgeting with the cord of his headphones. “It’s 6pm, Tommy. Jon left like two hours ago.”

“Yeah, well, Favs was here before me this morning. _You_ only got here at like 10,” challenges Tommy, rolling his his chair back and folding his arms. 

He looks ready to get into it, ready to wind Jon up. Normally that’s an engaging prospect but right now Jon is genuinely done for the day. His brain is not going to work any more today and he doesn’t want to take the bait. 

Instead he huffs and busies himself gathering up the endless fucking stream of detritus he leaves scattered all over every surface in his life, it feels like, despite his best intentions. 

Tommy goes back to what he was doing, typing fast and back ramrod straight in his blue Friend of the Pod tee. Showoff. Less than a minute passes before Jon can resist bothering him again. He stands behind Tommy’s chair and reaches to try to snatch the lollipop out of Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy ducks away in time, grabs Jon’s wrist. He doesn't try to be gentle, crushing Jon’s wrist in his grip, and Jon lets out an involuntary whine of pain.

“Tommy! Ouch.”

At their feet, Pundit looks up, interested to see if perhaps there is a game being played that she can participate it, but utterly uninterested as always in defending Jon from this type of behavior from Tommy. Pundit is not a very good protector at the best of times, and it’s always been clear that she misunderstands Tommy’s place in the pack order.

“No grabbing,” scolds Tommy. “No hands close to the face.”

“You’re hurting me,” says Jon.

“Good,” says Tommy. He squeezes Jon’s wrist hard one last time and lets go. Jon thinks about grabbing for the lollipop again anyway, but instead he nurses his wrist and frowns.

“Tommy,” he says. “Tommmmmmmy. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m bored. Can we just go now, please?”

“You can go ahead and go,” says Tommy, stubborn. “I’m almost done. I’ll text you when I’m done and we can get food.”

“No you won’t,” mutters Jon darkly. “You won’t text me. I’ll end up eating alone and I’m in a bad mood and I don’t want to eat alone.”

He dumps all his stuff by the door in a deliberate mess and stomps back over to pick Pundit up in a huff. Tommy continues to ignore him and Jon sits down on the floor by his feet, cradling Pundit and crooning to her. She cuddles up in his arms and licks his face.

“I love you,” Jon says softly, his face pressed to her face. “You’re very good.”

Above him Tommy clears his throat softly, shifts his rolly chair back and forth gently. When Jon sneaks a look up under the brim of his hat, Tommy’s face is focused, blank, looking at his screen. He’s finished the lollipop and he’s rolling the stick between his teeth.

Jon lies back on the floor, pulls Pundit up to lay on his chest. He closes his eyes and listens to the soft sounds of Tommy breathing and typing, his chair shifting on the floor, and the warm good sounds of Pundit breathing. 

Eventually Tommy gets up, starts methodically gathering up his stuff, putting his shoes on, humming a little under his breath. Jon doesn’t move or open his eyes until Tommy stands over him, nudges Jon’s ribs with his foot.

“Ready Freddy?” Tommy says. He’s got his messenger bag and his sunglasses on.

“Yep,” says Jon, too loud in the quiet room. “Get Pundit’s lead.”

Tommy does, without complaining, crouches down and hooks it onto Pundit’s collar while Jon labors to his feet and starts half heartedly gathering up his various canvas tote bags full of shit. It looks really egregious, but most of this stuff is Pundit’s.

Tommy holds the door open for Jon and waits. “What the fuck is all this shit?”

“Stop!” says Jon, raising his voice. The handle of one bag keeps slipping out of his hands. “Stop picking on me!”

“This is a co-working space, Lovett,” says Tommy. “It’s not your fucking private office. You pack in and pack out. Stop bringing your whole house here every morning.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” threatens Jon. “Say one more word.”

“One more word,” says Tommy, sweetly.

Jon shoves past Tommy, giving him the finger awkwardly around his armful of stuff. After Tommy locks up he jogs past Jon, down the stairs, so he can stand at the bottom and squint up at Jon lugging his way down precariously, juggling Pundit’s lead and all his bags. 

When Jon gets to the bottom of the stairs, Tommy takes Pundit’s leash from him without asking, but doesn’t offer to carry any of Jon’s stuff.

“I notice you’re not offering to carry any of my stuff,” observes Jon. “Not sure what you make all those muscles for if you’re not gonna use them to help others out in times of need.”

“Where do you want to eat?” Tommy asks, ignoring Jon. He’s slowing to let Pundit sniff around all the signposts.

“I don’t care. Wherever I can eat like an entire pound of meat.”

Tommy laughs. “Somewhere you can just eat Pundit’s weight in meat.”

“‘Dad, why are you ordering bratwurst in a unit of my weight??’” says Jon in Pundit’s confused voice.

Tommy laughs hard, from his chest. Jon smiles down at his shoes. “I don’t know,” he says. “We should go somewhere with an outside, somewhere we can bring Pundit.”

Tommy’s fishing his phone from his pocket. “Jon and Emily said they might - “

“Oh, Jon’s texting _you_ ,” interrupts Lovett snidely. “That’s nice. That’s rich. Didn’t even say goodbye to me when he left today.”

“That’s because you had Noisli on in your headphones and were facing the wall,” says Tommy, pushing his sunglasses up to squint down at his phone.

“Don’t make excuses for him. You people always make excuses for each other. Fucking bro code bullshit, I’m sick of it.”

“I tried to show you something earlier and you punched me.” Tommy tucks his phone back in his pocket and stands in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for Jon to catch up, looking back at Jon and squinting a little, half smiling. His skin is pink and his hair is like, extra golden, from time on the boat and all the running around in the hills he’s constantly doing.

“Give me a break,” says Jon, shifting the tote bags from hand to hand as the handles start to dig into his palms. “‘Punching’ is an incredibly overblown way of describing what was basically a nudge.”

“Well, you ‘nudged’ me right in my nipple, and it hurt.”

“Good,” says Jon.

“You’re a terrorist,” says Tommy with satisfaction.

**

They go to the Vietnamese place with the outdoor patio. Jon and Emily join them with Leo.

While they’re waiting for Emily to come back from inside so they can order, Tommy nudges Jon’s foot under the table, gives him a significant look over his beer glass. “Hey. Code blue,” he says, jerking his chin up. “Your 10 o’clock.”

“You really need to figure out a better signal than that,” scoffs Jon, but he twists around to look.

“What is this signal?” Favs is asking curiously. “Code blue? What is that?”

“Never you mind,” says Tommy, drinking his beer. “That’s between me and Lovett. _Lovett_. 10 o’clock. Jesus.”

_“What_ ,” says Jon defensively, still twisting around on the bench trying to figure out who Tommy is talking about. “I don’t know what this 10 o’clock business means. I don’t know what an o’clock is in an open space. What does that mean in space??”

Tommy gives an exaggerated sigh and sets his glass down. “Jon, give me your pen,” he says to Favs. Favs rolls a pen down the table to him and Tommy starts sketching on the napkin in front of him. “You can read a clock, right, Lovett? They teach math geniuses at Williams to read clocks, right?” 

“What are you doing?” demands Jon. “No, no, _do not_ create some sort of educational diagram on that napkin. I’m over it. I don’t want to know." 

Jon tries to snatch the napkin away from Tommy with the hand that’s not holding Pundit. Tommy grabs his wrist and pins it to the table between them with one hand while he continues sketching on the napkin with the other. 

“Ow, _ow_ -” 

“See, if you imagine you’re looking at a clock, and you picture the hour hand - that’s the little hand, Lovett - pointing to the ten on the clock - “ 

__

__

“Jon! Jon, he’s hurting me. This is workplace harassment. You have to do something.” 

“Stop hurting Lovett, Tommy,” says Favs mildly. He is checking Twitter with his sunglasses on and Leo in his lap, a beer in front of him, the picture of relaxation. 

“I’m not hurting Lovett,” says Tommy. “I’m just helping him understand how clocks work.” 

“I understand how _real_ clocks work, Tommy, I’m not stupid. I don’t understand how imaginary clocks that you’re just supposed to conjure up at some nebulous location to give you a piece of information work -”

“It’s not nebulous, it’s wherever you’re looking, it’s _your_ perspective.”

“Jon! You’re not doing anything, you’re utterly useless. Go get Emily. Emily, help!”

Emily is weaving her way back to the table, holding a bubble tea in each hand.

“Emily!” says Jon. “Tommy is bullying me and your husband is trying re-legitimize the bystander effect.”

“Whatcha drawing there, Tommy,” asks Emily, handing Favs his lychee bubble tea and kissing the top of his head. Favs accepts the kiss serenely and shifts back so she can also kiss the top of Leo’s head in turn.

“Nothing,” says Tommy. His face is getting a little pink and he’s still furiously sketching. “No bubble tea for me, Emily?”

“You didn’t ask for one! You were too busy fighting with Lovett.”

Jon yanks hard but Tommy’s hand on his wrist doesn’t budge. Shifting Pundit securely under his other arm, Jon leans up quickly over the table, bites down hard on Tommy’s forearm. 

Tommy laughs, loud, but he lets go of Jon’s wrist and pulls his arm away, fast. At the other end of the table, Emily and Favs are crowing - Emily with her hand over her mouth, Favs raising up his sunglasses to gawk better. Leo’s squished face looks even more perturbed than usual.

“Jesus Christ, Lovett, you’re fucking feral,” says Tommy. He’s running his hand back and forth over the spot Lovett bit and blushing even more furiously. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“You didn’t take me anywhere, you loon,” says Jon smugly, cuddling Pundit. “I’m buying my own pho here tonight Tommy. I’m a strong independent man.”

Tommy slides the napkin he was drawing on across the table, tapping it. There’s a scrawled rendition of Tommy - a stick figure with bug eyes - and Jon and Pundit - two vague shapes of roughly equivalent size with adorable smiling faces - sitting across from each other at the table, and there’s the clock face with the hand pointing out the code blue, a tall figure helpfully labeled “Hot Guy.”

“Wow, you’re so talented Tommy,” says Jon, folding the napkin so it’s out of sight and glancing over in the direction of the Hot Guy.

“Gone now,” says Tommy, taking a sip of his beer. “Missed your chance.”

“I did, or you did?” asks Jon snidely. 

Tommy just shrugs.

This is all still brand new, since Tommy moved to LA. Everything is so different now, in so many good ways, and this is one of them - joking about hot guys with Tommy. There was absolutely nothing like that happening in DC, even after Jon and Tommy were regularly hooking up. Like to the point where Jon thought Tommy must not even be consciously out to himself. 

They’ve never had an actual conversation-conversation about it, but Jon was there when Tommy set up his (frequently deactivated and re-activated) Tinder account, opening new bottles of wine and giving Tommy advice on his profile (“fewer pictures of you on a boat, NO pictures of you in a suit”), so he saw with his own eyes Tommy set his seeking preferences to both women and men. Thinking it through, Jon doesn't know why he was even surprised. What did he think, that he was some kind of grand exception for Tommy? What a bonkers thing to think. 

He guesses he had just thought Tommy would prefer to go the whole rest of his life never even mentioning this part of himself aloud. But as it turns out, there is yet another way that Tommy’s determination to grow and be better catches Jon off guard and awes him and makes his heart ache a little.

Jon scratches Pundit’s head, looks across the table, smiles and raises his eyebrows at Tommy. Tommy raises his eyebrows back, over his beer glass. Jon can see the faint white marks of his teeth fading on Tommy’s forearm. Tommy foot bumps against Jon’s again under the table, maybe on purpose.

“What are you two scheming about down there?” says Favs suspiciously from the end of the table. Emily laughs, sitting in Favs’ lap now, alongside Leo.

“Nothing,” says Tommy, in his cute getting-away-with-something voice. 

Their spring rolls arrive and Jon busies himself with stuffing as many as he can into his face and fighting Tommy aggressively over all the good ones. 

“I need to fucking separate you two,” says Favs. “What is the deal today? Lovett, did you not get your nap or something?”

“How. Fucking. Dare. You,” trumpets Jon, banging with his fist on the table while Tommy loses it across from him, face pink and eyes all crinkly. “I am not causing a single one of these problems. I have done nothing wrong my whole life but especially not tonight. Tommy is bullying me _relentlessly_ and your response Favreau is just further reinforcing what I already know, which is that Tommy is the golden child who can do no wrong because one time he cried on a bus in Iowa, and I am the problem child who can’t do anything right - I’m not saying _definitely_ because I happen to be Jewish and gay but _probably_ because I happen to be Jewish and gay, and I’m going to fight this shit and take it all the way to the Supreme Court.”

Jon takes the spring roll out of Tommy’s hand and eats it while Tommy’s crying too hard with laughter to put up a fight, and then for good measure picks up Tommy’s beer and takes a sip of it, even though he hates the kinds of beer Tommy drinks.

“I hate this,” he comments, putting the beer back down.

“Sorry, Lovett,” says Tommy, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “Next time I’ll make sure to order my beer to fit your preferences.”

“Glad we’re all having fun!” says Emily. “You two are gonna get us kicked out of this restaurant before we even get our entrees.”

**

Tommy texts Jon, _i wanna get you out of here_

It’s later on in the evening, after they’ve all finished and are just hanging out at the table drinking and talking. Jon is scrolling lazily through Twitter, elbows propped on the table, and he has to school his face not to look weird when he glances up at Tommy. Tommy looks totally normal, talking to Emily and laughing. Jon can’t see Tommy’s phone - he must have texted that one handed under the table. Fucking covert NSC shit.

Jon texts back, _when?_

He watches Tommy sneakily over his phone and sees Tommy glance down, sideways and casual, and send back, _Now_.

Jon chews on his lip, but before he can answer Tommy adds, _if that’s ok_

_Yeah totally_ , sends Jon. _I think we should leave separately though_.

_Ok. I’ll come over._

This part is fun. It’s been a minute since Jon was fucking somebody in a friend group and nobody else knew about it. It’s hot.

He stands and announces to the table, “Hey guys, I think Pundit and I are about to turn into pumpkins.”

“Pumpkin Pundit!” says Favs happily.

“What the fuck, it’s like 9pm, Lovett,” says Tommy meanly, looking up at him.

Jon ignores him completely and ceremoniously says goodbye to Emily, Favs, and Leo in turn, bypassing Tommy. While he walks away he hears Tommy saying incredulously, “You see that shit? You see how he treats me? Unbelievable -” and Favs and Emily laughing.

It’s not all the way dark yet. The street is all dusky and warm and romantic in the way that Jon never gets tired of. He puts his headphones on and listens to his summer in LA playlist, which is mostly just California by Joni Mitchell over and over again. 

When he gets home he feeds Pundit, showers, changes, makes a half-hearted attempt at picking up some of the stuff in piles on the floor in his bedroom and quickly gives up. He texts Tommy, _where are you_

The response is immediate. _Sorry. Got drawn into a thing with Favs. Leaving now. Be there in a sec._

_Maybe I changed my mind_ , texts Jon. _Maybe you missed YOUR chance. Gotta go back there and find that code blue guy instead._

_Fuck that. He wasn’t that hot,_ says Tommy. It’s gratifying and makes Jon grin.

A few minutes later, Tommy texts, _Go ahead and lock Pundit up. I’m almost there._

_You’re very bossy._

_Yeah and you fucking like it._

_NOPE_ , sends Jon with relish. _Not sexiling Pundit for one minute longer than necessary. She hates it._

The front door bangs. “Do you want to fucking get laid or not?” shouts Tommy.

Jon scrambles off the bed, gathers up Pundit and hustles her into the guest room/office, where her sexile bed is stocked with lots of nice consolation toys. He kisses her and shushes her and pulls the door shut, running right into Tommy’s looming chest.

“Hi,” says Jon, casually, leaning back against the doorjamb.

Tommy snorts. His face is glowing and he’s a little sweaty and a little out of breath, like maybe he jogged over here - a thought that’s excruciatingly sexy, so Jon will keep both it and his reaction to it to himself.

“Seems like you’re real hot to trot tonight, Vietor,” says Jon slyly.

Tommy laughs, rolls his eyes and makes his half embarrassed, half _you fucking idiot_ fond face that Jon loves. “ _Hot to trot?_ What the fuck century did that come from?”

“You wanna get laid tonight or what?” parrots Jon in a mean bro-y imitation of Tommy’s voice. 

Tommy shoves him hard up against the doorjamb, hard enough to hurt. Jon lets out his breath, grabs a fistful of Tommy’s shirt and yanks him closer.

Tommy drops his head, looks at Jon’s face through his eyelashes but doesn’t kiss him yet. 

“Anyway,” Tommy says, his voice softer now, “I’m not the one making a fucking obvious scene in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

Jon draws in a breath to loudly dispute and Tommy kisses him, hard and rough, his teeth scraping Jon’s lip, shoving him backwards again even though there’s nowhere for him to go - he’s caught between Tommy and the door.

Jon shoves back, as hard as he can, and he feels Tommy rock back a little on his heels, feels him shift and tense. 

“You wanna fight?” Tommy says, smiling a little.

“No,” lies Jon. “I want you to stop being so smug and just give it up already.”

Tommy kisses him again, hard, and grabs Jon by the hips, turns him around, pulling him back snug against Tommy’s body. 

Jon loves this feeling best - Tommy over and around him, Tommy’s arms wrapped strong and steady around him, but not having to look at Tommy’s face, because sometimes that can still be a lot and very confusing. 

Tommy presses his open mouth hot against the back of Jon’s neck and Jon shivers, presses back against him.

“What was I doing that was so obvious?” he asks, breathless.

Tommy laughs. “Fucking biting me? In front of everyone?”

“Oh yeah,” says Jon. “I forgot about that.”

“Oh yeah,” mocks Tommy. He kisses the back of Jon’s neck, slides one palm lower over Jon’s belly. “You were being a little brat and you know that I like that.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you liked it,” says Jon. “I thought you hated it, actually.”

“I do hate it,” says Tommy. “It’s very unprofessional and annoying and it makes me want to do this - “ and he bites Jon hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder and slides his hand into Jon’s shorts, grabs his dick and squeezes just this side of too rough.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” says Jon, squirming hard against Tommy. “Fucking - jesus christ. Okay. Do that, anytime you want. Anywhere. Fuck.”

“Cool,” says Tommy. “Cool cool cool.”

He starts steering Jon across the room, and Jon doesn’t make much of an attempt to help guide them, just kind of flops there in Tommy’s arms, a limp weight.

“Hey,” says Tommy in his ear. “Hey. Get it together.”

“Shan’t,” says Jon, trying to walk and just tripping over Tommy’s feet. “I’m helping. Look, I’m helping.”

“Well, stop helping. God.”

Jon can feel the vibration of Tommy’s laugh in his body, and it makes his face hurt from smiling.

“Put your feet on my feet,” says Tommy. “Here, like - stand on them. There you go.”

Jon leans against Tommy’s arms encircling his chest and looks down at his bare feet standing on Tommy’s stupid asinine sockless shoes, while Tommy takes awkward lumbering steps forward, carrying them both along.

“Sorry this is a little unsexy,” says Tommy behind him, breathlessly.

“On the contrary,” says Jon. “I think this is the sexiest thing you’ve ever done to me, Tommy. In fact, I’m gonna want you to walk me around like this at all times.”

Tommy wheezes a laugh. “It’s unsexy because it reminds me of my dad. Didn’t you used to do this with your dad when you were little?”

“No,” says Jon. He doesn’t feel like bringing the mood down by going into a whole thing about their childhoods, and Tommy seems like he gets that and just drops it.

He walks Jon over to the comfy armchair in the living room and just kind of shoves Jon down into it. “Fuck,” says Jon. “Alright. Yes.” 

He reaches for the waistband of his shorts, lifting his hips up to start wiggling out of them, but Tommy shakes his head, makes a reproving sound. 

He crouches down on the floor in front of Jon. His face is pink and he’s still smiling but his eyes are starting to get the focused-in look he gets during sex, a sight that will physically never not make Jon’s breath catch.

“No?” says Jon, shaky. “What’s the plan? I need guidance here, Tommy.”

“Just sit there and don’t move,” says Tommy, and he shoves Jon’s knees apart, hard, leans in.

“Okay,” says Jon. “That’s not really guidance as much as sexual fascism- but okay.”

Tommy bites down on Jon’s thigh, hard, just above his knee. He bites him again, and again, working his way up Jon’s thigh, nosing the hem of his shorts out of the way, while Jon sucks in deep breath after deep breath. He has to really struggle to keep still, to bite back yelps of pain and keep from just wrapping his legs around Tommy.

He puts his hands in Tommy’s hair, fingers gently sifting through - Tommy’s hair is so soft and fine, so different from Jon’s. Jon loves touching it, running his fingers through it, especially at moments like this where it’s hard to feel self conscious, hard to focus on wondering if Tommy is just tolerating this kind of affection or if he really likes it. 

Tommy is making low sounds that make it hard to misinterpret whether he likes this scenerio or not. He’s sinking his teeth into Jon’s thighs and worrying the skin, shaking his head back and forth a little like a dog snapping the neck of its prey.

“Tommy - ouch, fuck - I’m not gonna be able to wear shorts again in public for like a month,” says Jon, breathlessly.

“Serves you right, Lovett,” says Tommy. “You little tease. You fucking know what you do to me.” His breath is hot on Jon’s skin and his voice is raspy. 

“If the biting is supposed to be some sort of punishment you fail because I like it a lot,” says Jon. “It’s like in League of Legends when Soraka tries to punish Warwick by making him into a bloodthirsty werewolf, but surprise, turns out that’s all he wants in life is to rip people apart.” Jon takes a shuddery breath. “Except this analogy doesn't really work because clearly you’re the one who's a bloodthirsty werewolf, as I am now learning.”

Tommy rests his cheek on Jon’s thigh and looks up at him, eyes bright and mirthful and crinkled with laughter. “Shut up. You fucking fake geek boy.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about! Don’t _you_ dare call _me_ a fake geek boy,” protests Jon rebelliously. 

Tommy shoves Jon’s knees even farther apart, pins them against the wide arms of the chair. Jon’s thighs are shaking and they ache. It feels like he’ll be able to feel the sting of Tommy’s teeth forever. His dick is aching too, still trapped uncomfortably in his boxers and shorts.

He combs his shaking fingers through Tommy’s hair, runs them down to cup the back of Tommy’s neck. Tommy’s skin feels hot, and the fringe of his hair against the back of his neck is damp with sweat. He’s stopped biting Jon as intentionally, is now just kind of rubbing his open mouth against the skin of Jon’s inner thigh, his teeth lightly grazing.

Jon runs the tips of his fingers gently under the collar of Tommy’s t-shirt, against the warm plane of skin over Tommy’s shoulder blade, and Tommy shivers hard, shakes Jon’s hand off. Jon goes back to stroking Tommy’s hair, behind his ears, and slides his hand down to cup the side of Tommy’s neck. 

His stupid little hand looks so silly and ridiculous against the giant curve of Tommy’s neck. He presses his thumb against Tommy’s adam’s apple, very lightly, experimentally, and Tommy breathes in, closes his eyes.

“What, you want me to choke you?” Jon asks, finding this funny for some reason. “I’m sorry I can’t really effectively fulfil that need. I can barely open a jar of pickles.”

“No, you really can’t. With your little paws,” jokes Tommy, opening his eyes and looking up at Jon. He’s flushing.

“But if you’re really into that, I can maybe try at least,” says Jon with horrible awkwardness. He stares down at Tommy, trying to read his face.

Tommy laughs softly. His pale eyelashes against his flushed skin are really something, up close like this. He’s so fucking pretty. Not as like breathtakingly illegally pretty as Favs, but it still makes Jon feel like a horrible leprechaun haglet to look at him sometimes.

“That’s okay,” says Tommy. “Maybe sometime.”

“Maybe sometime the other way too,” says Jon, emboldened.

“The other way like I choke you?” asks Tommy, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, yeah,” says Jon, huffing out a laugh. “Duh.”

“Yeah, Lovett,” says Tommy, his voice low and warm. “I’ll choke the shit out of you. Anytime.”

“Okay - so when you say anytime like how about right now?” tests Jon.

Tommy shakes his head, smiling. He ducks his head back down, bites Jon’s left thigh again, hard. 

“Stay like that,” Tommy says, firmly. “Keep your legs spread.”

Tommy stands up. Jon’s muscles quiver with the effort of keeping his thighs spread so far apart without Tommy’s hands on his knees, but he does it, biting down on his lower lip to hide a grimace. 

Tommy kneels on the chair, in the space between Jon’s knees. It feels like he towers over Jon, who kind of flops back against the back of the armchair and looks up at him helplessly. Tommy’s face looks very serious all of sudden, almost stern. 

He puts his hands on Jon’s shoulders, cupping them and sliding up slowly til his big hands frame the base of Jon’s throat loosely, his thumbs resting against the notches in Jon’s collarbone.

“Yes, okay, just - be gentle,” says Jon quickly, a little nervous all of a sudden. “Like I still want to be able to breathe. Don’t like - don’t accidentally sexy murder me or anything.”

Tommy’s eyes crinkle warmly. “I won’t, I promise,” he says, softly. He slides his hands up so he’s holding Jon by the throat, incredibly lightly, his thumbs resting on the either side of Jon’s neck now. “Put your hands over my hands.”

Jon reaches up and does, fumbling. “It’s not like my first time,” he says defensively. “I’ve been choked before. Just not like, extensively.”

Tommy smiles, so soft and kind. “It’s cool. Look, this is how I did it the first time,” he says. “They had me put my hands over theirs and squeeze or tap, so I was in control of the pressure. So squeeze when you want me to squeeze, and tap when you want me to stop. Or just say stop. Go slow and I’ll just follow your lead.”

Jon can’t think for a minute. His mind is derailed by Tommy’s use of the gender neutral pronoun - wondering who choked Tommy the first time, who made Tommy feel safe and in control. When? How old was Tommy? Did Jon know him then?

But Tommy’s waiting patiently above him, his hands perfectly lax and steady around Jon’s throat, so Jon tries it, tentatively. He presses a little on Tommy’s hands like he’s pressing in on his own throat and feels Tommy mimic the pressure, feels the tightness increase until it’s a little uncomfortable, like he couldn’t take in a full breath. He forgets to tap and just says, “Okay, stop,” and then laughs at himself.

“ _Okay stop_ ,” says Tommy above him, eyes crinkling in delight, his hands back to being totally loose and relaxed around Jon’s neck again. “Guess we’ve ruined that segment for ourselves now, huh.”

“I like to think we’ve improved it,” says Jon. “With positive associations. I’m ready, do it again.”

“I’m waiting on you,” says Tommy mildly. 

Jon makes an impatient face, but he does it again, gently squeezes Tommy’s hands until the pressure around his throat is just right - so he feels totally at Tommy’s mercy but he can still breathe kind of okay.

“Just like that,” he gasps, letting go of Tommy’s hands. “Fuck. Want you to do that when you fuck me.” He’s trembling.

“Slow down,” says Tommy. His voice is gentle, but he’s flushing hard and his chest is rising and falling quickly. “We’re not in a rush.”

“ _You’re_ not in a rush,” mutters Jon rebelliously. 

“Shut the fuck up,” murmurs Tommy. He slides one palm up Jon’s throat, grabs him lightly under his jaw and tilts his head back. 

Jon closes his eyes, lets his mouth fall open a little. He can feel Tommy lean in closer, but Tommy doesn't kiss him like Jon thinks he’s gonna.

“You like that,” says Tommy instead, so softly in the quiet room. Jon can hear the slow traffic on the street outside and Pundit stirring a little on the bed in her sexile lair.

“Yeah,” says Jon. He’s not sure which part Tommy’s asking about, but it doesn’t matter, because Jon likes all of it. 

It’s been so long since he’s been able to enjoy sex with someone this easily, without worry about being too much, about being misunderstood, about ending up being hurt. Jon isn’t sure exactly what this is with Tommy, but he knows for sure that whatever ends up happening, Tommy won’t hurt him and won’t make him feel unworthy. He has years of learning who Tommy is and seeing Tommy’s sense of himself get tested and come out stronger to back that instinct up.

He opens his eyes and Tommy is looking down at him, his eyes focused and clear.

“Yeah,” says Jon again. “I like it, Tommy.”

**

“Shoot, that’s my phone. Where’s my phone?” says Tommy later, rolling out of the bed and rooting around through his clothes on the floor. He finds it and flops back onto the bed, saying, “Hey buddy,” as he answers, making eye contact with Jon.

“Oh, god, is it him?” mouths Jon grumpily. 

Tommy nods, bright eyed. He lies on the bed and looks at Jon while he listens to Favs, saying _uh-huh, sure thing_ every now and then. He walks his fingers gently up Jon’s side, pokes them in Jon’s armpit.

“Stop it,” mouths Jon, shoving Tommy’s hand away weakly.

“Okay, that all sounds good,” says Tommy to Favs. His voice is warm and relaxed, but he’s scooting closer on the bed so he can grab for Jon’s arm, pin it to the bed. “We can talk more about it in the morning but I think so.”

Jon lunges up, fighting off Tommy’s hold. Tommy drops the phone onto the bed, says “Shit,” under his breath, laughing. He rolls across Jon’s body to pin him, scoops the phone back up and says to Favs quickly, “Ok, gotta go, goodnight-” hanging up and pushing the phone safely across the bed while he wrestles Jon down, flips Jon over on his belly and pins his hand behind his back.

“You fucking bully,” says Jon into the pillow with dignity. “You fucking provoked _me_.” 

“I sure did,” says Tommy cheerfully. “Cause it’s easy, and so fun.”

The weight of Tommy’s body across him and the twinge of hurt in his arm where Tommy is twisting it make Jon’s stomach jump weakly with renewed arousal, but he’s not fucking twenty-six anymore and he’s ready to call it a night.

“Okay fine. Fucking uncle or whatever,” he says and Tommy rolls off of him, lounges on his side with his head propped on his hand, looking fondly at Jon.

“What,” says Jon grumpily, adjusting his sleep shirt which got twisted up in the scuffle.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” says Tommy.

“Shut the fuck up,” says Jon irritably. “Go get Pundit for me.”

Tommy obliges cheerfully, rolling off the bed right away. He brings her back cradled in his arms, singing When the Levee Breaks to her while she looks up at him, floppy and enraptured.

He tucks Pundit in next to Jon, kisses the top of her head and sits on the bed next to them, digging his phone out from under the pillow.

“Stay over if you want, or just flip the lock when you leave,” says Jon, sleepy, rolling onto his belly and cuddling Pundit closer.

“Okay,” says Tommy behind him, his voice soft and fond and distracted. It makes Jon feel warm all the way through, to have Tommy lying there next to him, scrolling through his phone, his brow furrowing and his toes flexing thoughtfully against Jon’s sheets as he reads. Every now and then he hums again, under his breath, just a few notes, repeated.

**

In the morning, Jon barely stirs as Tommy gets out of bed at grey, unholy o’clock to go running. He half hears Tommy moving quietly around the room and then leaving out the back door, pulling it closed softly. Jon snuggles Pundit, who is still sound asleep, and goes back to sleep.

He wakes up when Tommy flops onto the bed and Pundit barks, startled.

“Fuck, Tommy,” says Jon, groggy.

“It’s time to wake up, snugglebugs,” says Tommy. He looks freshly showered and his face is wide awake and beaming and _ugh_. He leans casually over Jon’s body to scritch Pundit behind her ears.

Jon stretches and yawns, his elbow bumping Tommy’s chest, and rolls over. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” says Tommy. “My body is hungry.”

“Don’t talk about your body,” says Jon automatically. Tommy laughs and wiggles his eyebrows.

“You want to get food?” says Jon. “You gotta give me a minute, I’m not awake yet.”

“Yes you are awake,” says Tommy firmly. “Let’s go, come on.”

He hops up and Pundit, ever the traitor, scrambles up, stretches out her little front legs and happily follows Tommy out of the room.

“I’m gonna take her out,” calls Tommy from the other room. “Get up, get ready!”

“Okay, just don’t let Emily and Jon see you with her,” says Jon. His voice is all scratchy and sleepy still.

Tommy appears back in the bedroom doorway, holding Pundit’s leash. “Don’t worry, we’ll do evasive manoeuvres,” he says. “But they wouldn’t think it’s weird. I’ll just be like, I went over and stole Pundit after my run. Totally normal. Totally chill.”

“Hmm,” says Jon, flopping around some more on the bed. He’s awake enough now to know he needs to pee and is hungry but he still feels warm and cosy and reluctant. His body aches in such a good wrung out way. Sex with Tommy is way better than even the best gym workout. He feels very relaxed. 

“Hey, so what are we doing here, Tommy?” he says, rubbing his eyes and looking at Tommy, who is standing in his annoying jogging clothing in Jon’s bedroom doorway, looking so delicious, holding Jon’s dog’s leash. This feels like as good a moment as any to finally ask. “Are we just having fun, or what?”

Tommy doesn’t answer right away. He smiles and leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms and looks at Jon with softness in his eyes. The softness that’s so hard for Jon to read because it’s the same softness Tommy’s always had towards him, from the very, very inauspicious beginning. 

“I like having fun with you,” says Tommy finally.

“Me too,” says Jon, awkwardly.

“Okay,” says Tommy. “Good.” He smiles and taps the doorframe decisively, turns to go. “Be up and ready to eat when we get back or Pundit and I will escalate!” he calls from the other room.

“Okay!” yells Jon. He pulls his pillow over his face. He’s grinning like an idiot, not sure how to calm or name this feeling washing over him overwhelmingly, not sure that he wants to.

**Author's Note:**

> i barf podsa feelings into the void at amazonplanet on tumblr!


End file.
